Snow Falling on Cedars 7.8分
读书笔记 第98页
Ishmael was aware of her legs and arms. The salt had dried at the corners of her lips and left a residue behind. He noticed her throat. He had known her for six years and he had not known her. The detached part of her, the part she kept to herself, had begun to interest him deeply.
It made him unhapy when he thought about her lately, and he had passed a lot of time, all spring long, mulling how to tell her about his unhappiness. He'd sat on the top of the bluff at South Beach thinking about it in the afternoons. He'd thought about it during school. His thoughts, however, yieled no clue as to how to talk to Hatsue. Words evaded him completely.
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